


brown sugar eyes in retrospect

by suheafoams



Series: coral knuckles universe [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Tongue Piercings, bad boy woojin, basically 2 boys who don't know how to flirt, chan's a carnivore, student president chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-23 14:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: “You know, I was picturing something more lucrative when I said my mouth was lonely,” Woojin says, staring up at the poorly maintained barbecue restaurant sign. Half of the letters inGolden Python BBQflicker with barely any strength, while the remaining letters have stopped working altogether.“What could be better than grilled meat?” Chan asks.“A different, special kind of meat,” Woojin replies insolently as he lets his gaze wash over the line of Chan's body, and Chan holds back the urge to roll his eyes.





	brown sugar eyes in retrospect

**Author's Note:**

> "write a simple continuation," suheafoams tells herself, "it'll be 4000 words at most. easy." 
> 
> and yet, this fic was neither of those things. 
> 
> this is a prequel to coral knuckles (WHICH YOU SHOULD READ FIRST, if you haven't already) and gives some insight to chan and woojin's relationship when they were still getting to know each other. ~eyebrow wiggle~
> 
> didn't think i would be writing a continuation / another piece of this universe because i never ever do that but here we are! there's a first time for everything. maybe student prez chan x bad boi woojin is just too good to resist. 
> 
> there may be some (or a lot of) errors bc im working through a stomachache late at night running lo on sleep and that's not a great combination for proofreading lmao but i will return to make any necessary changes if i see them 
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!

✿❀✿

On a frosty, gray morning like this, few students are inclined to make their way out onto the open fields of their mountainous campus terrain, preferring to take their breaks indoors over wandering outside into the freezing cold. 

For this reason, it won’t be too hard for Chan to find who he’s looking for. 

As he walks through the dew-filled grass, he retracts his free hand into the warmth of his sleeve, then shoves it into the pocket of his denim jacket, and lets his other hand savor the heat of the hot chocolate he’s bought from the school coffee cart. 

He’s unsurprised to find long legs paired with a familiar, sullen face occupying his favorite hiding spot, on an abstract iron sculpture shaped ironically like a giant, makeshift chair in the middle of the grassy field. Cigarette smoke momentarily obscures his view of the offender’s eyes, but Chan doesn’t need to wait for the air to clear to know how he’s being looked at. 

“I thought I told you to stop smoking on campus,” he says. The university administration had finally decided this fall that they were going to actually start reinforcing their no-smoking policy, and as someone involved in student government, Chan had an implied duty to encourage better smoking etiquette. Most students had taken to smoking in the corners of various school parking lots, or outside their department buildings late at night, when there were less people around to report them. 

“I’ve made rapid improvement, beloved student president,” Woojin says. “I’m smoking far away in a remote field that happens to be part of campus property. I’m not hurting anyone, am I?” 

He’s dressed in a hoodie under a leather jacket and jeans that tuck into high top combat boots. Every piece of attire is black, save for the bit of yellow stitching on the midsoles of his shoes. His legs are sprawled carelessly in front of him, lean and wiry under the deceptive thickness of the denim, and Chan wonders why it feels like Woojin grows thinner every time he sees him. 

Chan laughs dryly. “I don’t count as anyone?” 

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to come somewhere like this,” Woojin says. 

“If you plan on breaking rules by relying on the fact that people won’t show up, I’ve got some bad news for you,” Chan says. “This is my favorite spot, by the way, so I’m very much the type to come here.” 

“My bad.” Woojin’s eyebrows lift, but his eyelids don’t follow, and he dutifully takes the cigarette between his index and middle fingers and crushes the end of it until the glowing embers fade into colorless ashes. “Happy?” 

If that tone of voice were coming from anyone else, Chan would likely sock them in the jaw to teach them a lesson, but Woojin doesn’t sound defiant so much as he sounds exasperated with Chan’s persistent presence. That’s a hole in his well-crafted aura of apathy, which is something Chan can work with. 

“It’s not about whether I’m happy,” Chan says patiently. “Don’t you care about your health?” 

“Must be difficult to have to worry about so many people as student president.” Woojin’s smile is wry, but his body shifts into something more defensive. “You into lecturing people or something just because you’re better than everyone? Me listening to you once doesn’t mean I’m going to do it again.” 

He dislikes being told what to do, a glaring understatement in regards to his overlying disdain for authority. It’d been one of the most distinct qualities about him Chan had noticed the first time they’d met, the fact that Woojin had bent to the will of a student president who reasoned with him, but never, ever gave in to any adult with a self-righteous air about them. 

… _just because you’re better than everyone?_

Hardly. Chan knows better than to pretend he’s got things all figured out, when he has so many secrets of his own. He’s just lucky that he manages to slip under most people’s radar as a goody-two-shoes simply because he’s chosen to present himself in a manner society sees as traditionally digestible.

“No,” he replies. “I’m no better than you or the next person.” 

“Is that what you really think? Does that mean you have a high opinion of everyone you encounter?” Woojin asks, skepticism heavy in his face, and Chan debates over whether Woojin’s bad at hiding what he’s thinking, or just apathetic and unbothered about offending whoever he conversates with. 

“Not always,” Chan says. There are very few people he actively likes, but his role as student president has made it crucial for him to become exceptional at hiding his personal convictions. “But it’s unreasonable to place myself lower or higher than other people just because of our differences in lifestyle, isn’t it?” 

“And yet, it’s reasonable to nag at someone for their life choices,” Woojin says. “Is that what you’re saying?” 

“I only nag when I have a personal interest,” Chan says, with a wink. 

Affronted and unsurprised, Woojin merely responds with: “Disgusting.” 

“You wound me so deeply,” Chan says. “And I quit smoking a year ago, so I’m not throwing stones from my glass house.”

The admission has Woojin’s eyes going slightly wider before his facial expression is schooled back into its usual semblance of indifference. “And why should I care?” he asks, even though it doesn’t come across as rough as he probably wants it to. 

Chan doesn’t expect Woojin to care about anything, but he’d like, at the very least, for Woojin to know that he doesn’t go around placing himself on a high horse. He really only pesters Woojin as much as he does because Woojin’s got an icy exterior, and Chan thinks the absurdity of his antics tends to bring out a more talkative, petty side of Woojin that wants to fight back.

“You don’t have to. I’m just letting you know I don’t have a superiority complex or anything, and that I’m being genuine when I’m encouraging you to care about yourself,” Chan says, then holds the drink out towards Woojin. “Here.” 

“For me? Why?” Woojin says. “Are you going to poison me under the pretense of kindness now that I know your secret?” 

“No,” Chan says, laughing. As unfriendly as Woojin looks, the sliver of humor in his words makes Chan even more interested in digging deeper into his personality. “If it’s a secret, why would I tell you?”

“Humans are self-sabotaging and silly,” Woojin says. “They love to share the taboo parts of themselves in the off chance that they’ll find acceptance, even if it’s unlikely.” 

It’s a highly cynical thing to say, even if it’s valid. Chan is starting to understand more and more why it’s so hard for people to befriend Woojin. 

“I’m not as foolish as that,” Chan says, remembering all the times his friends have asked him why he never dates even though he’s been asked out enough times to lose count. 

Some secrets are entertaining, while others are downright damning. If Chan were to even bare half of his true character, people would run screaming, but he’d never be stupid enough to shatter his own image that way.

Woojin doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares about anyone else’s secrets, whether they’re fodder for drama or not, and maybe that’s why Chan feels a little bit more himself around Woojin, without any unnatural expectations and preconceived notions to box him into his usual politeness. 

He pastes an impeccably bright smile on his face, the same one he uses during student government meetings to get his way, and asks, “You’re not going to accept my gesture of goodwill?” 

“What’s the catch?” 

“No catch,” Chan says. “Do I need an ulterior motive to be nice to you?” 

“People are usually nice because they want something in return,” Woojin says, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. “And we’re not friends.”

“Maybe that’s my motive,” Chan counters. “To become your friend.” 

Woojin bristles slightly at that. “I don’t need that from you,” he says. “And you’re not short of friendship, either, if that’s genuinely what you’re here for.” If he were a cat, his tail would be all puffed up, his claws extended in suspicion of Chan’s intentions. 

“You haven’t slept, right?” Chan asks instead, walking closer so that he can press the drink into Woojin’s hands, even if it’s only to heat up Woojin’s skin. Only ghosts would know how long he’s been sitting out here in the numbing cold, too far out of view to garner any sympathy from anyone besides Chan. 

It’s a mere half-second that their fingers brush against each other, but the spark of contact is electrifying. If Chan feels winded from something so small, the world might go up in flames if he ever manages to touch Woojin anywhere else.

Perhaps Woojin feels it too, because his voice comes out sharp and erratic when he asks, “How do you know that?” 

“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” Chan says. “I saw you in the computer labs last night.” 

Woojin had been hunched in front of a computer screen, one of those clunky, expensive CINTIQs they use as monitors and digital drawing screens in the creative majors, while sitting next to two other girls working just as furiously as him. Later, Chan had overheard the two girls in the hallway talking about how Woojin had been nice enough to stay behind at school to compensate for what one of them hadn’t finished in their group project. 

And even if Chan hadn’t seen Woojin or heard the girls’ conversation directly, he still would have arrived at the same conclusion from a few glaring clues. 

Despite Woojin’s nonchalant attitude, he’s careful to avoid repeating outfits unless he’s left with no choice. That could mean he stayed over at someone else’s place last night and didn’t get a chance to go home and change, but his car has been parked in the same spot for nearly twenty four hours, and he doesn’t have any classes until the afternoon, signaling that he’d never had a reason to leave campus in the first place. His eyes have also had trouble staying in focus ever since Chan’s arrival, his under-eyes dark and discolored. 

“Those labs are major-specific and you’re not an art major,” Woojin says. He holds up the cup of hot chocolate in his hands to his face, warming his cheek. “Why were you there?” 

“So prickly,” Chan says. “I could totally be an art major. Or minor. You don’t know me.” Acting as student president has presented him with both its perks and disadvantages, but he doesn’t mind how well versed he’s become with the organizational layout of the university’s various departments and subsequently, its hubs of activities. 

“I don’t know _you_ , maybe, but I know our department would be far noisier if you were actually in it,” Woojin says. “And that’s obviously not the case since everything and everyone in our department is dead inside.” He takes a sip of the hot chocolate and blinks at it in reluctant surprise, as if he’s grumpy about not completely hating a drink Chan bought him. 

“It’s good, right?” Chan smiles, and doesn’t hold his breath to see if Woojin’ll admit it. “There was a club evaluation happening in that part of the school, so I’m not purposely creeping on you. Promise~” 

“I know you weren’t,” Woojin replies. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to get me coffee?”

“The school coffee’s caffeine is too strong,” Chan says. “Not good for you, considering you do need to get some rest after your all-nighter.” 

“I think we’re both aware that I don’t particularly prioritize making sure things are good for me,” Woojin says, but he continues to drink the hot chocolate, sticking out his tongue when he drinks too much at once and almost burns his mouth. He catches Chan smiling at his blunder, and he narrows his eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Chan points out. Woojin is really like a cat, easily vexed if any eyes are on him when he does something to break through his usual wall of aloofness. 

“You were saying it with your face,” Woojin says, scrunching his nose. “So stop it.” 

“I’ll make you an offer,” Chan says, after a minute of comfortable silence. “Move over.” 

“Why should—” Woojin starts, but Chan’s stronger than he looks, and Woojin makes a quiet yelp of surprise as he gets lifted up and then dropped back down a foot or two to the left. 

People had warned Chan to be careful around Kim Woojin, who had a penchant for starting physical fights and never lost, no matter how much bigger his opponents were compared to him. In front of a nasty temper and impulses that were easily set alight, there are probably few people besides Chan who would treat Woojin as casually, as carelessly as this. 

What they don’t know, is that cats will inevitably draw blood if they feel threatened. If you’re smart enough to approach them with slow, soft movements and butter them up with snacks, it’s inevitable that they’ll slowly open their hearts to you no matter how hard they try to resist. 

“That’s rude,” Woojin says. He pats and straightens out his jacket melodramatically, as if Chan lifting him has done irreparable damage. 

“There are things far ruder than me being generous enough to move you over without you having to exert any effort,” Chan says. “For instance, smoking in a smoke-free zone, which causes both short term and long term side effects—” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?” Woojin says, upper lip curled into a snarl. 

“Maybe once or twice,” Chan says, “though I’ll have to remind you that being a student president makes me an easy target of criticism for anyone who dislikes me, so some opinions are more biased than others.” 

Woojin crosses one leg over the other, pulling at a loose thread on the inseam of his pants like he couldn’t be less concerned with what Chan is talking about. “All opinions are biased,” he replies, then pauses. “...What offer were you going to make me?”

“I’ll hold onto your lighter for you,” Chan says. “Every time you want to smoke, you can come to me and I’ll light a cigarette for you.” 

“What kind of offer is that?” Woojin asks, frowning. 

“One that works in your favor,” Chan says. “You get to smoke whenever you want with zero judgment from me, but hopefully the inconvenience of having to find me every time will result in you smoking less and less until you quit entirely.”

It’s a win-win situation. Chan’s interest in Woojin is piqued, and he’s going to make sure their paths cross enough times before the fixation passes, even if he’s pretending to do it out of concern as a representative of their school community.

“That sounds like all cons and no pros,” Woojin says. “Why wouldn’t I just buy a new lighter? Or ask someone else?” 

“Think of it as a challenge,” Chan says, testing the waters. Some people’s spines come out at any threat towards their ego, unable to back down from a dispute over pride and oftentimes digging themselves a deeper hole into the ground. Perhaps that’s the reason Woojin’s knuckles are always scratched and bruised, because he can’t handle the idea of anyone looking down on him and needs to prove them wrong every time. “A test of your mental resolve.” 

The flat, motionless line of Woojin’s mouth means the bait Chan’s attempted to set has failed. “I have no need to test my mental limits when I know exactly where they are,” Woojin says matter-of-factly. “I’ve got the impulse control of a three year old, so there’s no point in—” 

“Really?” Chan raises his eyebrows. “If that were true, I don’t think you’d be staying behind to help your less competent group members finish their portion of work.” 

It’s not the first time Chan has been made aware of Woojin’s quiet deeds of compassion. He’s watched Woojin make an awful lot of mature choices for someone who supposedly claims to be impulsive and childish, and conceal them afterwards because he hates the attention.

“That’s called work ethic,” Woojin says, choosing to bypass and not question the fact that Chan knows too much information for someone supposedly not involved in the art department, “and it’s got nothing to do with how many cigarettes I go through in a day.” 

“Sure,” Chan says with a shrug, engaging in his second tactic. “It was only an offer. You’re free to do whatever you want, in the end.” 

Sometimes, letting go of what you want most is what leads it back to you. Chan considers himself adept at getting people to do exactly what he wants, but that could also be because they’re already half blinded by their obsessive admiration for the person they think he is. There’s no one quite like Woojin, who calls Chan _student president_ with as much disrespect as he can pack into two words and probably wishes Chan would just leave him the hell alone.

“Is it that fun to be a busybody?” Woojin asks. His long fingers have stopped drumming on his thigh and he’s staring intently at the ground. “Stirring your hands in other people’s affairs.” 

“It’s called having a caring heart, Woojin,” Chan says. “I can show you what that’s like, if you’re interested.” 

“No need,” Woojin says. “I don’t have a heart.” 

“Surely that’s not the case,” Chan says. “I’m sure there’s at least some warmth, some _passion—_ ” he pauses for dramatic effect, which he’s sure will only irk Woojin more, “—at your lovely core.” 

Woojin gives him a once over that’s meant to be dismissive, lazy, but the way his gaze slowly sweeps Chan from head to toe leaves Chan feeling hot all over, like his layers have been peeled back for closer inspection, like Woojin sees through all the frilly words and calculated concern. His hum is thoughtful, and the deepness of it makes it a sound that Chan wants to bottle up and listen to whenever he sleeps at night. 

“You’d be willing to invest your time to light some stranger’s cigarettes out of the goodness of your heart? I find that terribly difficult to believe,” Woojin says. 

“We’re not strangers,” Chan corrects. “We’re almost friends.” 

“Almost friends?” Woojin repeats, then makes a noise that’s not quite a sigh, but not quite an exhale, either. “Sure, if that’s what you think. You’re nothing like I imagined, student president.” 

“My, my, Woojin, are you admitting that you dream about me?” Chan asks, watching in delight as Woojin’s ears flush the color of cherries, the sort of red some girls wear on their lips to brighten their complexions.

“All nightmares, I’m sure,” Woojin replies, but he refuses to meet Chan’s eyes when he says it, and Chan considers that an achievement in its own, really. “Why are you wasting your time trying to persuade me to do what you want? You’d be able to get things done a lot faster if you just filed a disciplinary report on me.” 

“Isn’t it nice to do things because you want to do them, and not because someone is forcing you?” Chan replies. “I’d be happy if you go along with me, but I have no intention to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” 

Kim Woojin, who’s completely different from Chan in his lack of desire to please others, who can’t be bothered to follow rules unless he’s in the mood to, who fights people twice his size for recreational boredom, would never be swayed by someone telling him how to live his life. But Chan has a growing hunch that it’s because people don’t realize Woojin’s capable of things far grander than their expectations and that, as a result, he might find it easier to fulfill the negative prophecies held over his head since no one believes he can do any better.

Woojin is staring at him strangely, and Chan doesn’t know whether that’s a signal to start running or keep talking. He remains where he’s seated, heat crawling up the back of his neck at the intensity of Woojin’s eyes on him. 

Decision reached, Woojin sighs in defeat, and the strange atmosphere lifts. “…Fine,” he says, and reaches into his pocket to take out his lighter. 

“What a great choice you’ve made, Woojin,” Chan says with a smile. He promptly holds out his hand, curling his fingers securely around the lighter once Woojin drops it into his palm. “Next up, we’ve gotta talk about your all nighters.” 

“Last night was my only one, don’t worry,” Woojin says, as Chan tucks the lighter into his own pocket for safekeeping. “Caused by someone else’s nonexistent work ethic, not my error.” 

“Did I say I was worried?” Chan teases. 

“That’s all busybodies do, right?” Woojin makes a face at Chan. “Worry about things they’ve got no business worrying about?” 

Chan isn’t particularly worried about Woojin, just intrigued. Someone with such violent physical outbursts surely doesn’t care about what his classmates think of him or how their teacher is going to perceive the team’s chemistry, yet Woojin had gone out of his way beyond his individual responsibilities to make sure his group completed all of their necessary tasks. If Woojin avoids being openly praised for his kindness, then what drives that behavior in the first place, if not for acknowledgment?

“Why didn’t you just let them take the blame for it?” he asks. “And just sleep?” 

“Our professor’s a hardass,” Woojin says, sighing as he leans back and props his arms up behind him. “I didn’t want to deal with his nonsense lectures about teamwork, or make some weakling cry just because I wasn’t nice enough to pick up her slack.” 

“How kind of you,” Chan says. “You must be popular in your department.” 

“Hardly,” Woojin says, frowning at the mischievous lilt to Chan’s voice. “Don’t get any strange ideas.” 

“All great ideas start off a little strange,” Chan says. “Didn’t anyone tell you that?” 

“Is that what they teach you at student government meetings?” Woojin asks. “To let your mind run wild with strange ideas? If so, they’re doing a bad job.” 

“Don’t be so harsh~” Chan says. “I know you’re not very fond of authority, but does that apply to student presidents too?” 

“You’re _noisy_ ,” Woojin complains, voice rough with fatigue. “I didn’t get any sleep and now I have to listen to you chatter nonstop beside me?” 

“You don’t actually hate it, right?” Chan says. He’s feeling more confident, with the knowledge that Woojin has willingly handed over one of his most important possessions in permission for Chan to manage his smoking habits. “You’ve tolerated me being here this long without punching me in the face, so I must be doing something right.” 

The twitch in Woojin’s brow means he’s deciding whether to throw Chan off of the iron sculpture or ignore the situation entirely. “You can tell yourself that if it’s going to help you sleep easier at night,” he finally says, and Chan beams. 

“Oh, it will,” Chan says, his glee making him lean a little bit too far into Woojin’s personal space. Oddly enough, Woojin smells like cinnamon, and Chan’s too busy processing that and how much he likes it to realize their proximity has caused some unidentified mode to switch on in Woojin. 

“My mouth gets lonely, though, when I don’t smoke,” Woojin says. Then his voice goes deeper, silkier, and the self-satisfaction in it means he knows exactly what he’s doing when he’s pitching it that low. “What are we going to do about that, student president?”

Chan looks up at Woojin in surprise. 

If Woojin were a girl, there’d be no mistaking what he’s trying to get at. Chan is no stranger to flirtatious invitations cast his way by girls who know what they want, throwing glances ever so often and pressing too close to him while he pretends to be oblivious to their advances.

The _we_ implies something Chan hasn’t been brazen enough to venture toward yet, because he’s never really been sure whether Woojin’s interested in anything other than the brief flings he engages in with girls who match him in both attire and attitude. At most, Chan had only been planning on looking, not touching, because some part of him is deathly afraid of shaking up the status quo and stepping into territory he won’t be able to leave without paying a price. 

“There are other options,” Chan says evenly, heartbeat quickening at Woojin’s steady gaze. 

“Hmm,” is all Woojin says back, before he smiles. It’s cute, how smug he looks when he gains leverage in a conversation, and Chan idly wonders if it’s worth the risk to lean in and figure out what Woojin’s smile tastes like. He doesn’t think Woojin would mind it.

Instead of doing something as foolish as that, though, he jumps off of the sculpture. 

“Get up,” he says. “Come with me.” 

“What?” Woojin frowns. “Why?” 

“You said your mouth’s lonely, right?” Chan says. “But you’ve got to follow me first, because it’s going to be a surprise.” 

“I’m not walking to the other side of campus for a lollipop,” Woojin says. He’s talking about the student experience center, where they offer free candy and sweets for students in need of quick energy and smokers trying to wean themselves off of cigarettes. 

“It’s nothing as boring as that,” Chan says. “Who do you think I am?” 

“Someone with too much time on his hands,” Woojin says. “Moving is a hassle.” That’s what his mouth is saying, but his arms are tucked close to his body, clothes not quite thick enough for weather as frigid as this. 

“You’re going to get sick if you keep sitting out here anyways,” Chan says. 

“You gonna warm me up?” Woojin asks, fluttering his eyelashes. 

Chan can think of a million ways to warm Woojin up, _easy,_ but instead of giving in to Woojin’s attempts at propositioning him, he chooses to keep his face neutral and pulls at Woojin to force him up from where he’s sitting. 

Woojin is agile as he climbs off of the sculpture, bringing the empty drink cup with him. “Where are you taking me?” he asks, searching Chan’s face for clues. “For all I know, you could be a cold blooded killer.” 

“I told you, it’s a surprise. And you shouldn’t worry about that, since all my crimes are done out of passion,” Chan replies.

“Careful, student president,” Woojin says. “You shouldn’t say self-incriminating things so easily. Who knows what I’m going to tell other people about you?”

“You’d rather swing your fists than gossip about things you don’t care about, so I’m not that worried,” Chan says, knowing he’s reached an accurate conclusion from the way Woojin’s lips purse. “You coming or not?” 

Woojin’s eyes darken. “Hopefully, sooner than later,” he says, unapologetically salacious in his delivery, and Chan laughs at him, not saying anything back as the two of them make their trek to the student parking lot.

✿❀✿

It takes every ounce of self-control in Chan not to burst out laughing when he watches Woojin wake up and do a double take at where they’ve parked in front of, unable to make sense of what’s going on in his half asleep state. 

“Is this where you live?” Woojin asks, in a final grab at his last shred of hope. 

“Hell no.” Chan turns off the car engine and disconnects his phone from the audio system. “This place is more than ten miles away from school.” He doesn't expect Woojin to know that, though, since Woojin had fallen asleep minutes into Chan’s driving and hadn’t returned to the conscious world until just a few seconds ago. 

“So we’re here to eat...” Woojin says dully, like a displeased kitten who has failed to pry open the snack jar. His irritation is so apparent and endearing that Chan’s half tempted to give him what he wants right now just to tide him over, but that could very well lead to both of them getting arrested for indecent exposure. “...barbecue.” 

“Yes,” Chan says. Any other college student would be overjoyed to have someone treat them to barbecue, but Chan supposes he _is_ a little mean for deceiving Woojin into believing his surprise was going to be something more risqué. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday, right?”

His intentions are good, even if Woojin doesn’t see it that way right now. 

“I source my nutrients from elsewhere,” Woojin says, stubborn as can be. His arms are folded across his chest, and he stays like that even as Chan steps out of the car. “I’m leaving.” 

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Chan says, resting his elbow on the car roof as he peers inside the car at Woojin and attempts to coax him out. “It’s not like you’ve got a ride back other than me. Hurry up and come out so we can get a table before the lunch hour rush starts.” He can’t help laughing, though, because Woojin is horribly cute when he’s mad, and he gets an instant death glare in return. 

Despite his sour look not budging off of his face, Woojin complies and unbuckles his seatbelt before getting out of the car. “Eat by yourself,” he says. “I’m going to sit at a separate table.” 

“My heart will be so lonely, though,” Chan says, playing off of Woojin’s words from earlier. “I’m sure you can empathize.” 

Woojin ignores him and scrutinizes the restaurant’s front display, which is covered in several paper signs with Mandarin characters written sloppily in Sharpie to indicate specific dates the restaurant won’t be open for business. There’s a pink, peeling bike frame locked to a telephone pole on the side, with its wheels and handlebars having been stolen long before their arrival. It’s been there as long as Chan has been coming to this place, but it’s always been just visual white noise for him. 

“You know, I was picturing something more lucrative when I said my mouth was lonely,” Woojin says, staring up at the poorly maintained barbecue restaurant sign. Half of the letters in _Golden Python BBQ_ flicker with barely any strength, while the remaining letters have stopped working altogether.

“What could be better than grilled meat?” Chan asks.

“Another kind of meat,” Woojin replies insolently as he lets his gaze wash over the line of Chan's body, and Chan holds back the urge to roll his eyes. 

Whether it’s genuine desire or simply the convenience of their circumstantial interactions, Woojin’s underlying interest in Chan doesn’t feel like a burden weighing down on Chan the way other people’s romantic feelings have ambushed and trapped him before. In retrospect, Chan’s invited that impropriety upon himself, going out of his way to get Woojin’s attention in whatever way possible, whether it’s ruffling Woojin’s feathers until he snaps or supplying Woojin with sweet snacks whenever he sees Woojin nodding off in the computer labs.

He’s seen the way Woojin looks at him, sometimes, when he thinks Chan isn’t paying attention, and Chan only knows what it means because the same desire flows through his veins on late evenings when he can’t sleep, and he ends up imagining Woojin’s hands on him as a goodnight lullaby.

Even if he’s civilized nearly all around the clock and has never made the first move, there’s a side of Chan that wants to shred Woojin to pieces until there’s nothing else left on the floor between them except submission and craving and raw greed to take what they want from each other. 

Chan might give Woojin what he wants, but not when Woojin’s running on an empty stomach. 

“Nothing worthwhile can be enjoyed if you don’t have the energy for it,” Chan says, as he pulls open the door and gestures for Woojin to go inside first. “I’m guessing you’re the type to get cranky when you’re hungry.” 

“Is there anyone who doesn’t?” Woojin asks, and Chan only smiles at him before they’re approached by a waitress. 

She indicates for them to choose a table of their liking since the restaurant has only been open for a few minutes and is mostly vacant. Chan nudges at Woojin to lead the way, and Woojin picks a comfortable booth in the corner. 

Most of the ordering is left to Chan since Woojin is too busy sulking to have much of an opinion on the dishes they’re going to eat. After looking at what Chan has checked off on their paper menu, the only thing he says is, “More lamb.”

Chan changes the quantity of lamb skewers from _1_ to _2,_ and Woojin gives him a thumbs up when Chan shows him the correction. 

“We have something in common after all, Woojin,” Chan says, “Our mutual love of lamb.”

“How unfortunate for me to have something in common with you,” Woojin says, even though he looks as if he doesn’t really mind it. 

“Do you want any drinks?” Chan asks. 

At first, he thinks Woojin’s going to make a bad sex innuendo out of his words again, but Woojin remains fairly well behaved and only says, “Water’s fine.” 

“Are you less annoyed now?” Chan asks. 

“You’re not at any lower of a risk of getting murdered, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Woojin says irritably, and Chan makes puppy eyes at him until Woojin threatens to carve his eyes out. 

It turns out to be a good idea to make Woojin eat, because he mellows out considerably after devouring a few skewers, answering Chan’s questions about his major and his current projects without the usual amount of bite Chan had come to assume was a default for him. 

“Are the teachers in your program good?” Chan asks. He knows that the entertainment major has developed rapidly in the half decade it’s existed at their university, but that’s the extent of his knowledge on the matter. 

Although there are a number of teachers in the English department he’ll recall fondly after he graduates, most of them are rusty, old traditionalists who refuse to explore any new ideas unless they fit nicely within the social constraints they’ve personally created for their classes. Chan only gets by because he knows what battles to choose in his assignments and how to use his charm to his greatest advantage during office hours. 

Woojin snorts, which is telling enough. “I wouldn’t know,” he says. He pops a piece of lamb into his mouth, placing the empty metal skewer into his neat pile of skewers previously obliterated. “I don’t have the patience to deal with adults who only reward the students that kiss up to them.” 

“Sounds like some bad history,” Chan says. “You the type to be wronged by professors?” 

“Does it look like I’d ever be a teacher’s pet?” Woojin asks, with a bitter laugh that couldn’t better answer Chan’s question. 

“You work hard though,” Chan says. “Doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Not in our department,” Woojin says, shoving a cluster of enoki mushrooms into his mouth and chewing vigorously. “It’s better to do less work and just ask how your teacher’s week has been and gush over his portfolio.” 

“Seriously?” Chan says. “Sounds like a mess.” 

“There are some who aren’t so bad, who can actually tell who’s doing what and how much of it,” Woojin says, resting his chopsticks on the side of his plate so that he can pick up a beef skewer. “But mostly it’s about how much they like you, since they’re too stupid to wrap their tiny brains around the concept of numerically objective scoring.” 

“Do you ever try to cater to what they might want from you?” Chan asks. With the fragility of some teachers’ egos, it’s smarter for him to play dumb and pretend they’re the sole source of intelligence in the room, asking them questions he’d be able to find the answers to by himself in half the time. 

“Yeah, if they’ve got a specific formula in style or presentation that they prefer over others, it makes perfect sense to do what they want if you’re looking to get a high score,” Chan says. “But I’m not going to break my own back trying to kiss some old geezer’s ass just because he finds me intimidating.” 

“How cool of you,” Chan says, and Woojin cuts his eyes at Chan doubtfully. “I mean it.” 

“You’ve never had to deal with stuff like that, I guess,” Woojin says. “Because you have the kind of personality everyone likes, where people think you like them even if they have no idea what you’re thinking on the inside.” 

He makes it sound like Chan does it on purpose, which isn’t entirely wrong, but it’s not like Chan’s actions or persona are specifically premeditated. Things had just sort of…turned out that way, and then stuck. 

Chan has always tried to make everyone happy. It’s one of the reasons he’d ended up student president, because he was interested in meeting different students at their school and mitigating their concerns, if he couldn’t resolve them entirely. He leaves his own, stronger opinions on the backburner and puts on a smile in order to make the people around him feel at ease.

He’s not a people-pleaser because he wants to be a hero, or because he’s a pushover who can’t say no. 

It’s because people are silly and selfish, just like Woojin said, and they won’t notice anything about who Chan really is as long as he’s deflecting all of the attention back at them. That doesn’t mean all of it is fake or that he hates everyone, because he does genuinely mean well.

“I like your personality better, though,” he says, chewing absentmindedly on the ends of his chopsticks, and Woojin raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Why is that?” 

Woojin is unapologetic about who he is and unafraid of people disliking him, while still following the moral compass he’s created for himself and continuing whatever he’s doing even if it means gaining no acknowledgment after the fact. He’s not flawless, by any means, but that sort of innate courage is so hard to find when most people lean on society’s validation to judge whether their pursuits are worthwhile.

“You’re still you, whether it works for or against you,” Chan says. “Like a mountain that never topples, no matter what fortune or catastrophe it encounters.” 

“Would you like to swap?” Woojin asks, deadpan, and Chan is so bewildered at the fact that Woojin has cracked a joke that he forgets to laugh. He blinks at Woojin, a bit stunned, until Woojin clarifies with: “It’s a joke, Chan.” 

“I know,” Chan says, cheeks warm at the fact that Woojin has called him by name for once. “I was just surprised.” 

Woojin offers him a small smile. “I guess you’re not an English major for nothing. You’re pretty good with your words.”

“Maybe I should become a poet,” Chan says. “People would be moved to tears.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Woojin says, but he’s chuckling, the lines in his face completely smoothed out as he relaxes, and Chan is tempted to take out his phone and snap a quick picture for his own records. 

The conversation dies down after that as they polish off the rest of their food, hurrying to eat the remaining skewers before they get too cold to enjoy properly. 

“What time does your class start?” Chan asks, when he’s waiting for the check to come. 

“Um.” Woojin’s tongue darts out to catch what remains of the sauce and grease from his last skewer on his lower lip. His face is a bit flushed from the kick of the spices in the seasoning, but it doesn’t diminish how good looking he is, or make Chan itch to kiss him any less. “Three.” 

“Oh good,” Chan says. That leaves them with plenty of time to kill. 

Woojin narrows his eyes. “Why?” 

“Is that your default response to everything?” Chan asks. The waitress is almost done printing their receipt, so he takes out his wallet to retrieve his credit card. “Why this, why that?” 

He hands it directly to her as soon as she reaches their table, and she’s back to the register to process the transaction. 

“I’ve gotta watch out for weirdos who kidnap me and take me to barbecue restaurants early in the day,” Woojin says. 

“That’s what you’ve got to say to someone who’s treating you to delicious food?” Chan asks. 

“Thank you very much for the barbecue,” Woojin says, with the attitude of a petulant sixth grader being told off for misbehaving, and Chan laughs. “Not that I had a choice.” 

“You voluntarily got in my car,” Chan points out. 

“With misguided expectations,” Woojin says. “Didn’t realize you were just as boring as they said, student prez. All talk and no action.” 

Chan grins, sly and secretive. “I can’t show you all the tricks up my sleeve, Woojin. That would be self-sabotage.” 

“Do you even have any?” Woojin asks. He’s jumped to conclusions about what Chan’s made of, but he’s failed to realize that he’s only seeing the tip of the iceberg, and that Chan is simply feeding his prey before he goes in for the kill. 

Chan doesn’t mind the assumptions, though, since they’ll only magnify the shock when he finally shows his hand. “The more time you spend with me, the more you’ll find out,” he says. “Isn’t that more fun?” 

Woojin puts on his jacket when Chan receives the check again and signs off on the total amount. “Fun, my ass,” he says.

“Language,” Chan reminds him, like propriety has ever been a priority for Woojin, and Woojin makes a lewd gesture at him as they exit the restaurant. 

✿❀✿

On the drive back, Woojin sleeps like a log. Chan has a lot of fun talking to a sleeping Woojin, because Woojin doesn’t take offense to anything and only mumbles gibberish back without really waking up. 

He deliberately parks in the farthest section of the lot, where people will park in the summer to prevent the sun from turning their car into a boiling hot oven. 

But they’re in the middle of November, and with it being fifty-nine degrees Fahrenheit outside, Chan’s motivations for parking here have nothing to do with the sun’s unforgiving rays of heat. 

When Woojin wakes up, he’s adorably disoriented. “Why did you park so far away?” he asks, resting his cheek against his fist as he stares out the window. “You’re not going to drop me off closer to the entrance, like a well mannered driver would?” 

The usual apprehension in his eyes is totally gone, due to the hot food and the nice, long drive, for which he’d slept through a majority of. Chan’s never really cared about his windows being tinted darker, but they’re going to come in real handy right about now. 

“Give me a second,” Chan says and unbuckles Woojin’s seat belt before he leans over Woojin to reach for the lever on the right bottom side of Woojin’s seat. 

“What are you—” The rest of Woojin’s question remains unvoiced when his chair unfolds and reclines into the most horizontal position, and he scrambles to hold onto something. “What—” 

Chan maneuvers his left foot over the gear shift so that he’s half situated on the passenger side, half on the driver’s side, body hovering diagonally over Woojin’s. 

“What are you doing,” Woojin finally gets out, trying to back up as Chan leans in and traps him against his seat. 

In a game of cat and mouse, Woojin might think he’s the hunter, but in the midst of letting his guard down, his prey has come out of hibernation to resume its true form: a predator on the hunt. “Don’t you think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, Woojin?” Chan asks.

“I don’t understand,” Woojin says, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“You will soon,” Chan says sweetly, and closes the distance between their faces to kiss Woojin hard on the mouth. 

Woojin reciprocates faster than Chan expects, returning Chan’s keen nips and bites with just as many of his own until their mouths are both stinging, and that’s somehow reassuring to Chan, even though Woojin has been blatantly hinting at wanting to get in his pants ever since they were sitting on that iron sculpture out in the field. 

“Took you long enough,” Woojin manages to say against Chan’s mouth. “You prude.” 

“You might regret saying that,” Chan says mildly, in warning, and captures Woojin’s lips again, except this time he tilts his head and parts his lips to gain better access to the inside of Woojin’s mouth. Unsurprisingly, Woojin tastes like a mixture of mint candy and fading barbecue spices, but Chan isn’t paying as much attention to that as he is to all the small gasps Woojin makes as Chan continuously grinds against him. Pushing the fabric of Woojin’s jacket and hoodie away, Chan lets his hand slip underneath the cotton of Woojin’s t-shirt to impatiently press cool fingertips on hot skin, dragging his teeth across Woojin’s bottom lip in his hesitation to pull away for a breath. 

He’s not into suffocating, though, so he forces himself to take a break, breathing heavily while his hand acts as a mapmaker to the topography of Woojin’s solid chest and toned abs, the lines of his six pack a bit softer after a meal well eaten. 

Between the two of them, Woojin ends up being the impatient one and pulls Chan back down so they can resume kissing, and his muffled moans get louder, more demanding. He jerks away, though, when Chan’s tongue runs a full path around the curve of Woojin’s teeth and meets Woojin’s tongue, and Woojin inevitably feels the foreign sensation of metal pressing against his tongue. 

“You—” His pupils are so blown out, eyes wide as he glances between Chan’s face and mouth, or more precisely, the titanium bar running through Chan’s tongue. 

“Am I still as boring as they say I am?” Chan asks. “‘All talk, no action’?” 

“What the living fuck,” Woojin says, still trying to catch his breath, looking torn between deciding whether he’s terrified or even more turned on by Chan’s piercing. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Chan says, with a carnivorous grin. He doesn’t know whose saliva he’s tasting when he licks his lips, and that thought pleases him. 

It’d been sort of an on-the-spot decision, nearly a year ago. Chan had walked in expecting to get more piercings on his ear, then somehow got encouraged by his piercer into getting a body modification slightly more unconventional than he’d originally planned. 

_Sometimes it’s like I don’t know who you are under all that politeness_ , Jisung had said when Chan’d showed him, and even though it had been a joke, Chan had spent weeks mulling over whether he’d ever find someone to fully understand and _see_ him, both inside and out, without feeling like they were an outsider to his psyche. 

Woojin frowns even harder when Chan sticks his tongue out, like he’s lost faith in the integrity of his own vision because his eyes have showed him something ridiculous twice.

“So you’re a total _freak_ under all those stupid manners,” is what he finally says, and Chan laughs.

“I’ve shown you so many good sides of myself, and this is how you choose to categorize me?” Chan pretends to be hurt, but relief bleeds out of his shoulders as they drop and relax. “All because of one piercing?” 

Woojin looks mildly afraid, still, but he doesn’t move away when Chan curls his fingers into a careful claw so that his nails can scrape across the seam of Woojin’s fly. “It’s nice,” Woojin says, still staring at Chan’s mouth, now closed, and Chan is foolish for feeling so happy at two stupidly simple words. 

“Who else knows about it?” Woojin asks.

“My close friends,” Chan replies. “My parents.” 

“What did your parents think of their precious, goody-two-shoes son having something like that in his mouth?” Woojin asks, peering at Chan coyly from underneath his lashes.

When Chan had gone home for winter break and his parents had eventually discovered what their son had done, his mother had asked him if it hurt while his father had chuckled from where he’d been sitting on the couch, sorting through their packages and mail. His parents are more liberal than most people think, but there are a lot of things he’d rather be doing at this moment than discussing anything related to his mother or father. “You really want to talk about my parents right now?” 

“I was just curiou—” and Woojin chokes back a moan because Chan chooses that particular moment to apply pressure onto Woojin’s crotch with the palm of his hand, and he uses his other hand to hold Woojin down by the hip when Woojin tries to thrust up. “Fuck!”

“How vulgar,” Chan says, even as he revels in how much Woojin wants this. The explosiveness of his reactions to the way Chan touches him. “Are you always this difficult in bed?” 

“Shut up. I don’t like you,” Woojin says, glaring. “And we’re in a _car._ ” 

“Mere semantics.” Chan is slow in unzipping Woojin’s jeans, making sure Woojin is painfully aware of every additional millimeter that gets him that much closer to being touched directly. “I think you like me a lot, Woojin. After all, I took you out to eat Chinese barbecue and now I’m going to touch your dick.” 

“Stop chattering so much and do something useful with your mouth,” Woojin says.

“Why?” Chan asks. “Are you into the piercing, now that you’ve gotten over the shock of it? Do you want me to suck you off?” 

Woojin bites his lip at the suggestion, eyelids fluttering. “We’re in _public_ ,” he hisses. 

“Are you embarrassed?” Chan asks. “And here I thought you’d be the kind of guy who’s into public sex.” 

Woojin’s noise of protest is indignant. “Are _you_?” 

“A little bit,” Chan says, just to watch Woojin’s ears turn even redder. The flush is starting to spread to his cheeks, and Chan wants to check whether it’s reached Woojin’s chest. “Should we roll the windows down?” 

He lets his fingers skim along the window controls for the side closest to Woojin, and Woojin’s eyes grow wider than life. 

“ _Fuck_ no,” Woojin says. “God, what is wrong with you?” 

“A whole lot,” Chan says. He moves his hand back to rub Woojin through his underwear, and Woojin exhales shakily. “Though that would be a lot to unpack right now.” 

Woojin’s laugh is mixed in with a bit of disbelief. “You’re so…” he pauses. “Man, who hurt you?”

“Me,” Chan says, and as much as it’s meant to be a joke, it’s not too far from the truth either.

“I guess that makes sense,” Woojin says.

“Does it?” Sometimes Chan doesn’t entirely understand himself, so it’d be helpful to hear from someone who does. He’s half serious when he asks Woojin, “Can you explain it to me?”

“No,” Woojin says, laughing. “You’re smart enough to figure it out.” 

Touching Woojin makes the world comes to a standstill, Chan’s frustrations and responsibilities tossed out the window in favor of making a mess out of the man underneath him, elusive and distant but still so very sultry. Chan’s not sure which one of them is burning hotter, but the pit of his stomach drops over and over again at the way Woojin completely and totally melts under him, cock warm and heavy in Chan’s hand. 

Hands splayed out on Chan’s ass, Woojin pulls Chan’s hips downward so that their crotches are mashed together, and that makes Chan groan loudly before he bites down on his own lip to stifle the noise. The fabric between them is an aggravating obstacle, antagonistic in that the layers prevent Chan from pressing as close as he wants, to match every square inch of his body to Woojin’s.

He licks and bites up Woojin’s neck, peppering kisses against Woojin’s jaw before focusing his attention elsewhere, accidentally bumping his lip into Woojin’s hoop earring when he tries to get a mouthful of ear to gnaw on. 

Woojin laughs at him, and Chan pouts. “Shush. Don’t laugh.” 

“Don’t bump the forward helix one,” Woojin gasps, when Chan’s bites start to get sloppy. Meaner. “It’s still healing.” 

“Okay,” Chan says, taking heed of Woojin’s reminder. He moves off of the battlefield of Woojin’s ear, sucking Woojin’s velvety lower lip back into his mouth one last time as he tightens his fingers around Woojin’s dick and strokes at a much more rapid pace, until Woojin is moaning straight filth into Chan’s mouth and his hips are shuddering with a violent franticness even after the pressure between his legs starts to ease off. 

“It’s 2:55,” Chan says, pulling away from a squirming, writhing Woojin, who blinks at him with glazed over eyes and a mind that’s not quite there.

The nicer side of him wants to keep sucking marks into Woojin’s neck as Woojin thrusts into Chan’s fist, but the bully in him wants to make sure Woojin can’t think about anything except him for the rest of the day. “I guess it’s time for you to get going,” he says cheerily. 

“You’re not going to…” Woojin trails off when Chan gives him a deliberately clueless look, and he groans in frustration, leaning over to punch the car horn square on the nose in retaliation. “You’re a fucking tease.” 

“It’s one of my favorite hobbies,” Chan says. “Especially when it comes to prickly, hostile kittens like you.” 

“What did you call me?” Woojin asks, but there’s no heat in it. He’s fully hard, and he tucks his cock back into his underwear and adjusts himself until his arousal is slightly less obvious. _Slightly_ is the key word. It’s still wonderfully clear that he’s been up to no good, swollen lips red as strawberries and gelled hair now sticking out in all directions. “I can’t go to class like this, asshole.” 

“Value your education,” Chan says, blowing him an air kiss. “Stay in school.” 

Woojin looks inches away from murder. “You’re not even going to make me come?”

“I don’t want you to be late for class,” Chan says. “Or show up smelling like sex.” 

“Right,” Woojin says, “cause I look just _so_ put together right now.” 

“You look pretty good to me,” Chan says, patting a stray strand of Woojin’s hair back into place before he leans back to sit down in the driver’s seat and admire his work. “If they ask about your lips, just tell them you got stung by a bee.” 

He can see Woojin’s temples tense up. “Listen, fucker,” he says, jabbing an angry finger into Chan’s chest, which Chan admits he does deserve for all the torture he’s put Woojin through. “You are the worst person to have ever existed on this god forsaken planet.” 

“I’m doing the responsible thing,” Chan says. “Would you rather I get you off and then you walk to class all sticky?” 

He means it as a warning, but the more he thinks about the idea, the more tempted he is to actually act on it. He’ll get to see what Woojin looks and sounds like when his orgasm is pried from him, and Woojin will have to go to class late, with hypersensitive lips and come cooling all over his stomach as his classmates try and figure out whether he was shameless enough to have sex right before their lecture.

Woojin’s face is dangerously blank. “I will personally come back to murder you,” he says, zipping up his jeans. He flips the sun visor down to check his reflection, sighing when he realizes the extent to which his mouth has been debauched by Chan. All that’s missing from his look is Chan’s name written in big, bolded letters across Woojin’s forehead, to let everyone know whose clutches Woojin fell victim to. “You’re not very good about being subtle about these things, are you?” 

“Forgive me,” Chan says. “I’ll be more careful next time.” He reaches out, carefully, to swipe his thumb across Woojin’s lips, and Woojin lets him. 

“What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” Woojin asks, biting down lightly on Chan’s thumb.

“We’re going to have to meet again in order for you to kill me, right?” Chan smiles, completely unrepentant. He lets his hand fall from Woojin’s mouth. “I’ll leave you my address if you give me your phone.”

Despite his long suffering sigh, Woojin hands over his phone without a word, and Chan thinks that says quite a lot about how far they’ve come and how much farther Woojin will let him go.

✿❀✿

It’s not in Chan’s nature to have expectations. 

Or at the very least, he’s learned from a young age that it’s better to crush every single one that comes up in his brain while it’s still in its developing stages.

His standards for himself are sky high, but he’s always known expectations are merely the precursor of disappointment and resentment, and there’s no point in wasting energy hoping people will behave as he wants them to when they all eventually revert to letting their selfishness drive their actions. 

He tells himself this at least once a day, whenever someone in student government proposes an idea but never successfully executes it, or whenever unruly students flood the cafeteria for a free-food event like animals despite knowing they’ll overwhelm the volunteers in the process. 

That’s why he holds back the urge to scream and shout whenever he feels anger curling its fingers around his neck, because people hardly ever change, and it’s easier to let walking disasters run their course and watch from the sidelines as people repeat the same old mistakes while wondering why they always fail.

Woojin, on the other hand…

He’s grumpy, with a mean mouth and eyes full of spite, but he’d let Chan drag him around even though he wasn’t obligated to keep Chan company, and he’d kissed Chan back without fixating on why the student president was so intent on getting his hands on a boy no one else respectable dared touch. His motives were clear, but not bad, and his hands had been so big and so warm curled around the back of Chan’s neck as their mouths found exhilaration in each other. 

Maybe that’s why the disappointment stings so bad when Woojin doesn’t show up in the evening, even if Chan had been half-expecting it, because for a moment Chan had thought he’d finally met someone who fell on the same wavelength as him, someone who saw through the volatility and shallowness of human nature and chose to stay true to himself regardless. Woojin had taken the unexpected parts of Chan and held them, carefully, without making Chan feel ashamed or uncomfortable. 

But Chan has to remind himself that Woojin had been bored and tired and horny when Chan caught a hold of him, leaving him emotionally vulnerable and unnaturally compliant. It will most likely end when his mind clears and he realizes he has zero interest in spending any more time with Chan. 

“No expectations,” Chan reminds himself, hating how much the rejection burns him because he never, ever cares about anyone this much, and he doesn’t look at his phone for the rest of the night. 

✿❀✿

A day later, Chan thinks nothing of the knock on his front door, assuming it’s an evening delivery or Jisung and Changbin ambushing him for an impromptu drinking session. They tend to do that whenever they think Chan is putting too much pressure on himself and he’s drowning in a never ending flow of essay papers and impending deadlines. 

That isn’t too far off from the state of disarray he and his apartment are in now. His coffee table is covered in papers from both his tutoring sessions and his own classes. He’s only wearing a ratty old pair of sweatpants because he hasn’t had any time to find any clean t-shirts, and the natural curl of his hair has returned with refreshed vigor, leaving him resembling a frazzled brown poodle. 

Undoing the door locks with ease, he’s already half prepared to tell Jisung and Changbin to text him, _please_ , the next time they come over uninvited and want to invade his personal space. 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Woojin to be the one standing in front of him when he opens the door. “...Woojin?”

“Why do you look that surprised to see me?” Woojin asks. “Weren’t you the one who gave me your address?” He doesn’t bother to hide the way he glances down at Chan’s unclothed torso, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before his gaze travels upward to make contact with Chan’s eyes. Chan almost expects him to be less enthusiastic since Chan isn’t looking his best or even his average, but all he sees in Woojin’s face is desire, transparent and unfiltered. “Am I unwelcome?” 

Chan’s hope, which had dwindled down into a shaky wisp of resigned acceptance that some things aren’t meant to be, flares back up into bold and bright flames that fill his chest with warmth. 

“Of course you’re welcome here. I wouldn’t have given you my address otherwise,” Chan says. “Here to smoke?” He has to ask, before his emotions run too far for him to control and he does something silly.

“No,” Woojin says, and Chan’s throat is so dry. “I’m here for something else.” 

“Something else,” Chan repeats.

“Yup.” Woojin licks his lip. “And I guess I’ll quit smoking for now. It was an expensive habit anyways.”

“That’s a good resolution,” Chan says, hoping the tremble in his voice isn’t as noticeable as he thinks it is, and Woojin shifts his weight from one hip to the other. “Thought I scared you off yesterday.” 

“I was carrying out self care, like you told me to,” Woojin says, as he steps through the doorway and into Chan’s apartment. His hair isn’t styled today, soft and fluffy due to there being no hair products in it. He looks considerably younger like this, with bangs that cover his forehead and part of his eyebrows, too. “I would probably have gotten the flu from seeing you too much in one day.” 

“That’s not how the flu works,” Chan says. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed, horribly close to exploding.

Woojin doesn’t seem too inclined to argue. “I parked on the street, in the two hour zone,” he says instead, pulling his shoes partially off by the heel and then letting his feet do the rest. “That’s fine, right?” 

Chan hums. “Should be,” he says. Two hours is plenty of time to do what he wants with Woojin, but he has a guest spot in the parking garage Woojin can use if necessary. “Why did you come today, if you weren’t going to come yesterday?” With a good night’s sleep and a whole day of running through his normal routine, Woojin has had plenty of time to reconsider Chan’s invitation and decide that he’s not crazy enough to step into a lion’s den. 

Woojin stares at Chan for a moment before he says, “I pulled an all nighter, and I had a class this morning that I didn’t want to miss. Would have been an instant K.O. if I was stupid enough to come to your place and get fucked.” 

Chan raises his eyebrows. He’s never divulged his preferences in that sense, but oddly enough, Woojin’s hit the nail on the head. “Why did you think I was going to fuck you and not the other way around?” 

“You’re a control freak,” Woojin says. “I noticed it yesterday, when you chose to stop in the middle just so you could watch me suffer. Anyone else would have prioritized getting themselves off first but you liked making me squirm.” 

“You knew that, and yet you still came to my apartment?” Chan says. “You don’t have much self-preservation.”

“It was hot, I guess,” Woojin says. “How much you want to keep your cool, and how you’ll sacrifice your own pleasure to boss people around. Is that why you’re student president, so you can satisfy your secret fetish?” 

“No,” Chan says. Leadership is less about telling everyone what to do and more about the tedious intricacies of facilitating harmony in a group while everyone is dying to rip out each other’s throats, compromises be damned. “Those are two separate things.” 

“Sure,” Woojin says, scanning the living room with a slow, careful turn of his head before pausing at the pile of papers splayed across the coffee tabletop. “Did I interrupt your work?”

He asks the question like he doesn’t care one way or the other, but the dead giveaway to his real thoughts is the thinly veiled concern in his eyes as he observes Chan, trying to figure out whether Chan has enough energy to host an unexpected guest.

Yes, but after hours of editing, Chan’s brain is a little fried anyway and he thinks he’s worked hard enough to earn a break, especially if it’s one that involves Woojin. “Are you going to leave if I say you did?” 

Woojin smirks. “Nope.” 

“Then you know there’s no point in asking,” Chan says. 

“Thought you would appreciate the show of manners,” Woojin says.

“I do,” Chan says, and he finally reaches out to touch Woojin, all the thin hairs on his arm immediately reacting to the thrilling sensation of skin that’s a little new, but not as foreign as it’d been yesterday. 

“You’re tired,” Woojin says, letting Chan strip him out of his hoodie and pull it over his head. His shirt rides up momentarily and reveals a swatch of toned tummy. “Guess we swapped under-eyes.” 

“It’s because I don’t have concealer on,” Chan says, which makes Woojin raise one eyebrow. “They always look like this, and I don’t sleep much, so...” 

“Poor student president,” Woojin laments, slouching a little and leaning forward so that their foreheads touch. “It’s admirable that you work so hard to keep up good appearances.” His wide frame shrouds Chan’s completely in shadow, their height difference more obvious now that they’re standing so close to each other. 

The words aren’t anything special, but there’s no sarcastic lilt hidden between the lines like Chan expects, just tenderness, and Chan can feel the fatigue and stress of the day fade away as soon as the words leave Woojin’s mouth. He closes his eyes, realizing that Woojin is comforting him with his own, special Woojin brand of kindness, even if he’s not openly admitting it. 

“Thank you,” Chan says. 

Woojin licks his lips sheepishly. This close up, his eyes remind Chan of the ocean, deep and dark and filled with miles of the unknown. “For what?” 

Chan thinks Woojin knows the answer to that even without a verbal explanation, and he grabs Woojin lightly by the wrist and leads him to the couch, pushing Woojin onto it so that he’s laid out on his back. 

He climbs on top of Woojin, accidentally kneeing Woojin’s bony thigh in the process of getting situated, and he kisses Woojin on the nose in silent apology. It’s not meant to be affectionate, but it sort of comes out that way, and Woojin’s face turns pensive at the gesture, with the sort of look in his eyes Chan would run from if it were anyone else. 

Chan’s heart swells inexplicably the same time his cock reaches full hardness, and the complicated state of mind and body he’s in annoys him enough that he bestows Woojin with a mean spirited twist of the nipple. 

Woojin winces. “What was that for?” he asks, confused about what he’s done to make Chan upset. “Did I—”

Chan doesn’t answer, just swallows the rest of Woojin’s questions into his mouth, savoring the softness of Woojin’s lips as he shoves his hand underneath the waistbands of both Woojin’s briefs and sweatpants. Woojin welcomes it, rolling his pelvis upwards to eliminate any space remaining between his dick and Chan’s hand. It’s a pity Woojin hadn’t showed up in the jeans he was wearing yesterday, which perfectly hug and accentuate every curve of muscle and bone on him. At the very least, though, stripping will be easier this way for both of them. 

Chan doesn’t realize Woojin’s surreptitiously sneaking hands on him, too, until he involuntarily thrusts at the new concentrated heat at the crotch of his sweats. “Don’t touch,” he says and flicks Woojin’s hand away. 

“Bossy,” Woojin says. “Don’t I get to touch you?” 

“Later,” Chan says. “But for now, just sit there.” 

Woojin nods in understanding, but not without reluctance. There’s still a challenge in his eyes left to squash down and Chan holds his gaze, as if daring Woojin to try and rebel against him until Woojin finally retreats and drops his hands to the sides of Chan’s thighs, in permission for Chan to proceed however he wants. It makes Chan’s heart beat so fast, that Woojin lets him take control even though he can easily overpower Chan with only a fraction of his full strength, that Woojin is pliant and relaxed as Chan moves him around because he trusts Chan to take care of him. 

Chan forges a winding trail of marks from the center of Woojin’s clavicles to his nipples to the supple muscle of his abs, ending it with a particularly fierce bite to the jut of Woojin’s hipbone. 

“You’re very pretty,” he tells Woojin, whose breathing has become more and more ragged as Chan begins to wear away at his prickly outer shell. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

Woojin doesn’t reply, but he jolts to attention when Chan digs an unforgiving nail into his thigh, deep enough to leave a red crescent in the skin but light enough to avoid drawing blood. “I asked you a question,” Chan says, annoyed. 

“I thought you didn’t need an answer,” Woojin says. “I don’t remember.” 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Chan asks, and Woojin frowns, unable to tell where the conversation is leading. “I told you to quit smoking in front of the school entrance.” 

Recognition flickers across Woojin’s face. He shifts a little, into a more comfortable position. “Yeah. What about it?” 

“I already wanted to do this back then,” Chan says. “Lay you out like a princess and spoil you rotten.” 

Woojin had been sitting the same way he’s sitting now, thighs spread wide, and Chan had forced himself to stop thinking about how much he wanted to suck off Woojin right then and there, render him powerless outside of the two story high glass windows where everyone’d be able to see them. 

“Is that a mispronunciation of ‘bully’?” Woojin jokes, and whimpers when Chan drags the nail of his index finger upwards in revenge, approaching the sensitive skin around Woojin’s balls. 

Woojin might be undefeated when it comes to fighting, but it’s hard to imagine that side of him when he’s melted into a human puddle just from a little rough playing on Chan’s part. He resembles a cat caught with its belly exposed, his half lidded eyes sharpening at the corners, nostrils flaring briefly as he waits for Chan’s next move. 

He’s barely just relaxed when Chan decides to give Woojin’s dick a few preliminary strokes, using his thumb to drag what’s seeped out of the slit to make the slide easier, smoother. Chan keeps his grip lax, committing to memory with painstaking detail the way Woojin shivers uncontrollably with stimulation at every micro-touch, every tangible drag of skin against skin. 

It’s one thing to dream about getting his hands on Kim Woojin, and another entirely to have Woojin’s flesh and skin underneath the pads of his fingers, to actually be able to touch just one point on Woojin and feel every other part of Woojin’s body go into overdrive milliseconds later. 

“Fuck,” Woojin murmurs, hands scrambling to clutch at something and settling for the clothed ridge between Chan’s hip and asscheek. He’s gorgeous like this, the golden undertone of his skin burning up brilliantly against the gunmetal suede of Chan’s couch. 

“You’re always…” Chan says, then trails off. 

“I’m always what?” Woojin says. “If you’re going to be chatty, might as well finish your sentences.”

 _You’re always on my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about you,_ Chan had almost said, but that seems like a confession too early to be uttering when they’re not anything to each other except for acquaintances who have somehow gotten unconventionally friendly. 

“How was class yesterday?” he asks instead, and Woojin’s eyes narrow until they’re just slits.

“What an unsexy thing to say,” Woojin says. “You want me to go soft?”

“You were looking pretty sexy when you got out of my car,” Chan says, smirking when he feels Woojin’s cock twitch with interest in his hand. “Surely you didn’t just go straight to class?” 

“I jerked off in the bathroom before I went,” Woojin says. “Does that turn you on, you pervert?” 

It does. “You should have let me watch,” Chan says. 

“And have you do something to stop me from coming? No thanks,” Woojin says, as Chan lowers his body, still keeping his hand wrapped around Woojin’s erection. “I was late enough as is.” 

Satisfied with Woojin’s answer, Chan dips his head to press the tip of his tongue into the head of Woojin’s cock as a reward, the combination of his warm mouth and the cold titanium of his piercing presumably dropping Woojin freefall into a polarizing mix of sensations. Woojin’s moan is high pitched, tantalizing agony bleeding into panting breaths, and the cuteness of it makes it go straight to first place on Chan’s list of favorite Woojin noises. 

Chan makes a game out of it. He tests how close he can get Woojin to coming without actually letting him come, alternating between circular motions of his tongue at Woojin’s cock head and licking unabashed stripes along the shaft whenever the tip of his tongue gets tired. 

He views people a lot like he does books, most being reasonable enough to understand out of necessity but none of them weaving words interesting enough to keep him flipping through their pages. The language of Woojin’s body, though, is one that Chan wants to read over and over again because of how many new quirks and new details he seems to find every single time he blinks. 

Chan gradually learns to recognize the warning signs. Woojin’s legs spread when he’s desperate, his toes curling as he tries to hold himself off, his heavy breathing morphing into reckless, unhinged moans that make Chan more aware of the ache of his own erection. 

“I can’t,” Woojin gasps, as his fingers curl into a tight fist in Chan’s hair, “Chan, _Chan,_ I’m—” and then Chan’s easing off completely with an obnoxious, final lick before he straightens up, watching attentively as Woojin thrusts up into nothing. Woojin’s dick bounces back and rests heavy against his stomach, a line of pre-cum trailing in the path of the motion, and the soft hairs near his navel are soaked from the run off of pre-cum and sweat. 

“Please, no,” Woojin says, barely coherent, and Chan grins at him. 

“Please what?” Chan asks. 

“Let me come,” Woojin pleads, and he releases a cry of misery at the puff of hot air Chan blows at his dick in response. He wiggles his hips, as if enticing Chan to touch him where he wants it most. “Please, please, _please—”_

Chan supposes he’ll indulge Woojin just this once. “Only because you’re being so polite,” he says, and slithers back down to situate himself between Woojin’s quivering thighs to swiftly take all of Woojin into his mouth. The moment of contact has Woojin’s whole body shaking violently, and the long, lean line of his throat and Adam’s apple is exposed as he drops his head back, emitting loud, shallow pants, eyes squeezed shut in infuriating pleasure.

He comes with a bitten off groan and then turns totally silent, leaving Chan to focus all of his attention on the way Woojin’s cock pulses and softens in his mouth as Woojin’s orgasm is ripped from his control and bitterness floods onto Chan’s tongue. 

Chan pulls off of Woojin, then opens his mouth to let the come and saliva collected inside of it drip onto Woojin’s stomach, wiping his mouth to get the remnants as he looks back up at Woojin, who’s staring at Chan as if he can’t decide between being amazed or appalled at Chan’s complete lack of boundaries. 

His lips part, then converge again when he decides not to say anything. 

“Would you rather I have swallowed it?” Chan asks, blinking innocently. 

“That’s not the—” Woojin massages his temples with one hand. “Well, spitting it out like that is one way of disposing of it.” 

Chan licks his lips, still tasting Woojin in his mouth, and he wonders if it looks that way, too. “Sharing is caring,” he says, smirking, and Woojin grabs a hold of Chan’s waist in favor of replying. 

“What are you doing?” Chan asks, as Woojin pulls him closer in. 

“Let me do something for once,” Woojin says, kissing Chan on the corner of the mouth. Then he says, in a lower, darker voice: “Stop struggling.” 

Chan isn’t used to handing the reins over to other people in his work or personal relationships, especially when it comes to something as intimate as sex. What few previous partners he’s had were happy to let him do as he pleased, unbothered by the fact that he was uncomfortable with sexual gratification defined outside of his own terms. 

“You’ve had your way with me twice,” Woojin says. “Surely I can reciprocate just once.” Even so, he seems to sense the mild anxiety in the tension of Chan’s shoulders, and he lets his fingers rest at the waistband of Chan’s soft sweats, his thumb tapping impatiently against warm skin as he waits for Chan to give him the green light. 

“Okay,” Chan says, quietly, and Woojin smiles at him, soft and genuine. 

He expects Woojin to flip him over so that their positions are reversed, but Woojin doesn’t force Chan to go underneath him, only dismantles Chan of his remaining clothes before curling long, calloused fingers around Chan’s cock. It’s weird, that Woojin pretends not to understand how to comfort other people despite being able to intuitively pick out what matters to them most, like Chan needing to reserve some amount of control for himself even if his body is at the mercy of Woojin’s intentions. 

The friction, along with Woojin’s eyes staring up at him, simultaneously dark and bright all at once, makes electricity blaze through every crook and cranny of Chan’s veins as his body chases after the touch it’s spent forever starving for, and he bucks forward to push for more than Woojin’s giving him. 

“Don’t,” Chan says, when Woojin purposely makes his fist even looser and the ring of pressure around Chan’s dick becomes _just_ enough to taunt and frustrate him, but nowhere near enough to ever make him come. His hips stutter forward in a desperate search for more tangible friction, but Woojin laughs, a short, breathy one, and successfully holds Chan in place by pressing his free hand on the lower part of Chan’s stomach to hold him up. Chan’s knees feel like they’re going to buckle any moment, but Woojin’s undoubtedly stronger than him, and he won’t let Chan take the easy way out by grinding against Woojin’s chest to reach his climax. “Woojin, don’t tease—!” 

“Oho,” Woojin says, fully aware of what he’s doing to Chan. The compassion from a moment ago has completely disappeared from Woojin’s features, and Chan is too far gone off the deep end to pull back and call it quits. “What’s that I hear? You want me to jerk you off harder? You don’t like being me teasing you and taking things slow?” 

Chan bites his lip in irritation. “Woojin.” 

“You like to deny people orgasms, but me going a little slower makes you want to die already?” Woojin laughs again, even more smug than before, and it would be endearing to listen to if Chan weren’t so _pissed_ at how the tables have turned. “How unfortunate.” 

Chan’s drawn blood from biting on his lip so hard, he can both smell and taste the tinge of iron. Anything that comes out of his mouth is going to be a pathetic cry for mercy, though, and he won’t let himself beg like that. Instead, he bites down even harder, and Woojin gapes at him like he can’t believe someone as stubborn as Chan exists. 

“You’re not going to beg?” 

“No,” Chan says through clenched teeth even as his hips jerk embarrassingly in betrayal. 

“That’s no fun,” Woojin says, and steals a cajoling kiss from Chan’s mouth in his version of a truce, probably tasting iron. “Another day, then. I won’t put you through hell because I’m not as cruel as you~” 

“I shouldn’t have let you do this,” Chan says venomously. 

“I would feel awfully selfish if I was the only one receiving,” Woojin says. “Don’t you think it’s better when it’s the both of us getting off?” 

When he’s alone, Chan is efficient. He doesn’t have the kind of schedule that allots a lot of free time for unproductive activities, and he really only masturbates out of boredom or to alleviate stress, stroking himself hard and fast to completion while his mind stays clear to mentally organize the rest of his day in hourly chunks for work and club responsibilities. 

Right now, though, all he can think about is how much he likes Woojin, with his rough, large hands and low pitched voice, personality mercurial like a cat in every sense except for how he lets Chan get him on his back without unsheathing his claws. 

Chan’s mouth falls open and stays open as he fucks into Woojin’s fist, vision blurring and orgasm getting closer and closer within reach. Woojin’s hands are so much larger than Chan’s that Chan doesn’t know whether he wants to escape it all or bury himself deeper into the tight ring of heat formed by Woojin’s impossibly long, pretty fingers. 

Chan sinks his teeth into the fleshy part of Woojin’s shoulder the moment he comes, mind going black, and he can’t even tell whether he’s broken skin because he’s still got his own blood on his lips, only knows that Woojin yelps a little at the unexpected pain and doesn’t retaliate because he’s nowhere nearly as vicious as Chan is during sex. 

“Did you chew through the furniture, too, as a child?” Woojin asks, looking down at his chest, where Chan’s come has splattered all over. “You’re so…” 

“You’re not furniture,” Chan says, hooking his chin over Woojin’s shoulder as he collapses onto Woojin, stickiness and all, his body coming down from its high. “You’re my dinner.” 

“High nutritional value, I’m sure,” Woojin says, and Chan can feel him turning his head to look for something. “Do you want to clean up?” 

“What makes you think I’m done with you?” Chan asks, a sticky string of release following him as he lifts himself up and arches an eyebrow at Woojin. 

“Are you…not?” Woojin asks, eyes filling with alarm, and Chan grins slow and sly at him before kissing him again, licking the entire inside of Woojin’s mouth to leave a reminder of where Chan’s mouth has been. 

✿❀✿

Woojin is gripping the pillow so hard that the indentations of his fingertips might still be there a week from now. The muscles in his ass flex as he attempts to squirm away from Chan’s unrelenting fingers, making small, kitten-like whines in between his silent gasps every time Chan curls his middle finger and presses into the spot that makes Woojin’s entire body go rigid. 

“You thought I’d go easy on you because you were a little nice to me?” Chan asks. “What a silly kitten you are.” 

“Should have gotten back at you while I had the chance,” Woojin mutters, about to continue talking back, but he hisses at the unannounced addition of a second finger inside of him. 

Love is sweet, and revenge is sweeter, but sweetest of all is the man Chan has managed to trap in his bed, who’s cold and unbothered in front of everyone else but hot as an inferno in the prison of Chan’s bedsheets. 

Three and a half orgasms later, Woojin lies face down on Chan’s bed, dead to the world. 

“Are you good?” Chan asks, skimming his fingertips across Woojin’s bicep to see if the motionless body in his bed is alive or not. “You’re going to suffocate yourself like that.” 

Woojin’s reply is instant. “Don’t touch me,” he growls, but he doesn’t (or can’t, more likely) make any move to hit Chan when Chan’s light brush of fingertips turns into a palm petting Woojin’s arm gently. He uses the least amount of energy possible to turn his head, so that he can give Chan a steely side-eyed glance. “All those orgasms, and you still haven’t fucked me.” 

Chan chuckles. “There’s more than one way to fuck someone,” he says, sliding his hand down to cup the curve of Woojin’s ass through his briefs. “But I would be delighted to go another round if you have the energy.” 

The suggestion makes Woojin cough fearfully, and he’s too sluggish to even move away when Chan slides his hand over to draw circular patterns on the side of Woojin’s waist, just below his ribs. “Roll over so I can wipe you down,” Chan says.

“Make me,” Woojin says, letting out a gleeful shriek when Chan tickles him in retribution. Chan walks into his bathroom down the hallway to retrieve a towel, soaking it and then wringing all the water out before he returns to Woojin, who’s at least curled up on his side now as he stares at Chan contemplatively. “Your sheets are already dirty. Why bother cleaning me?”

“If one part of your house is dirty, do you let everything else go to filth, too?” Chan asks. “I’m going to switch those out after I’m done with you.”

“Very responsible,” Woojin says, forcing his voice to go all nasally, and Chan drags the towel down the side of Woojin’s neck, where the spattering of bite marks has left him extremely sensitive. Woojin makes a shrill whine in defeat, knowing he’s got more to lose than Chan does if he acts out. “Fine, fine, I won’t say anything more—”

“Good,” Chan says, sitting down, and resumes applying a more benevolent level of pressure to the rest of Woojin’s body as he wipes it clean. Woojin is quiet, lifting his limbs whenever Chan nudges him and slowly blinking as he stares off at some undefined point at the corner of Chan’s room. Enamored, Chan gives him a cursory scratch under the chin after he’s done, and the focus in Woojin’s face resets and redirects to Chan.

“What’s that for?” Woojin asks. 

“You’re very cat-like,” Chan says. “It’s cute.” 

“People have said that about me before,” Woojin says. He places a hand on Chan’s thigh, covering ample mileage because of how broad his palm is. It’s tame. Innocent, and there’s no particular reason for him to do it other than he wants to, and Chan’s chest surges at the intimacy of the gesture. “Something about never doing anything unless I want to do it?” 

“That, too,” Chan says. “But a lot of your mannerisms are in sync with how a cat would behave, if they were human.” 

“I’m capable of doing a lot more damage than any cat could,” Woojin says. 

“I don’t know,” Chan says, teasingly. “You’ve been pretty docile these last two days.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Woojin says, voice thick. 

“I won’t,” Chan says, even as he’s realizing more and more how difficult it is for him to look away from Woojin.

“This isn’t so bad~” Woojin says, when Chan stands up to go rinse off the towel. “Having someone take care of me. You gonna tuck me in, too?” 

“Are you not going home after this?” Chan asks. Despite all that’s been said and done, the distance between them is hard for him to gauge, and he hadn’t let himself hope for Woojin to stay overnight, since Woojin seems like the kind of guy who needs an exorbitant amount of time to himself in order to recharge. 

“Do you _want_ me to go home?” Woojin asks. “Pretty rude of you, kicking your immobile guest out right after you’ve done the dirty and rendered them unable to walk—” 

The knot in Chan’s stomach he hadn’t known was there starts to untangle. “I’d like it if you stay here,” he says, and remembers belatedly that Woojin drove here. “But your car can’t stay on the street, because you might get a ticket. I have a guest spot in the underground garage you can use.” 

“Move it for me,” Woojin wheedles.

“Sure,” Chan says. “You trust me with your car?” 

“I trust that you have car insurance,” Woojin retorts. “And only an idiot would manage to get into an accident parking in their own apartment garage.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Chan says, recalling at least two instances where someone had their car towed from inside of the underground garage. “Where are your car keys?” 

“On your coffee table,” Woojin replies. “Mine’s the gray 2010 Civic right outside of the...leasing office? Gate thing. Whatever.” He points haphazardly in a random direction, opposite to the street Chan assumes he parked on, because where he’s pointing is actually the road drivers take if they’re getting on the freeway. 

“Got it,” Chan says, with a laugh. He’ll figure it out. “I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much.” 

“As if,” Woojin says, but his hand lingers a beat too long on the back of Chan’s thigh as Chan stands up, and Chan is still thinking about it by the time he exits the front gate of his complex, dressed in a parka and sweatpants, his heart sailing with feelings he’s afraid he’ll be forced to give up.

✿❀✿

Once he’s changed the bedsheets and given Woojin a clean change of clothes to put on, Chan doesn’t climb into bed with Woojin and instead, prepares to go and sit in the living room to continue working on student papers from the class he’s TAing for. His eyes are dry and tired, but his mind should be clear enough to squeeze in a bit of proofreading before his body succumbs to fatigue and forces him to sleep. 

He doesn’t realize Woojin has come into the living room until he hears from behind him, “You’re not going to sleep?” 

He turns around to smile at Woojin. “I’ll correct a few more papers,” Chan says. 

“Do it in there,” Woojin says, pointing to the bedroom doorway.

“Why?” Chan asks, trying to meet Woojin’s eyes and grinning wider when he realizes Woojin’s not letting him. “Do you like me that much?” 

Woojin makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Forget it,” he says, and pivots the heel of his foot to go back into Chan’s bedroom. 

“Don’t be like that,” Chan says, grabbing a stack of papers and a few colored ballpoint pens before following Woojin. “You know I’m just teasing you.” 

“I’m going to punch you,” Woojin says, but he seems satisfied when Chan settles down next to him on the bed, sitting down on top of the blankets while Woojin curls into fetal position under them. 

The sleepier Woojin gets, the softer his features turn. The usual harshness to the edges and corners of his expressions are gone, his remaining energy only enough for him to passively watch Chan work, gaze totally free of the cynicism he tends to view the world through in the daytime.

They’re thinking about the same thing, Chan realizes, when Woojin breaks the silence to say, “You know, you’re nothing like the rumors.” 

“Rumors?” Chan asks. “What do you mean?” 

“That you’re pure and chivalrous,” Woojin says mockingly, “and supposedly a _vanilla_ boy in the sheets.” 

Chan snorts. Whoever created the rumor must have lived their whole life a fantasy, if they genuinely believe Chan is as one-dimensional as a fairy tale prince in stories meant for people who haven’t yet grown up or don’t ever plan on doing so. Growing up means facing reality and understanding that adults aren’t as virtuous as they used to seem, and that appearances are only useful as long as what’s underneath can hold up against the salty waves and thunderbolts of relentless storms. 

It may be scary to have people who pin him to a board and expect him to live a life as pretty as a photograph, but Chan’s much more terrified of the way Woojin makes him feel, staring up at Chan with the sort of affection that Chan is afraid to read too much into. If he’s not careful, the glass between them will shatter, and he’ll lose what few pieces of Woojin he’s managed to capture. “Does the personality gap bother you?” he asks. 

“Not particularly,” Woojin says. “There had to be a crack in your mask somewhere.” 

Chan smiles at him and goes back to reading the sentence he last left off from, thoughts rattling and reshuffling back into order so he can make comprehensible suggestions for edits. 

However, it isn’t long before Woojin sits up and pulls his knees up to his chest as he watches Chan, fidgeting more than Chan thinks is necessary until he realizes Woojin’s doing it on purpose. 

He finally looks up at Woojin, who blinks like he’s unaware of why Chan’s focus has broken. “Yes?” Chan asks. 

Woojin beams at him. “Can I use the other pens?”

“To do what?” 

“Draw on the margins of these papers,” Woojin says, pen nib already a centimeter away from another student’s paper, one Chan hasn’t gotten to yet based on the lack of red ink. “Nothing crazy. I’ll leave space for your precious comments.”

Chan gives a small nod, granting permission, and he hadn’t thought Woojin’s face could light up any more than it already has, but he’s proven wrong. 

Woojin sketches careful, thin lines into the corner of the paper, going quiet as he concentrates on his drawing, and that allows Chan to fully focus on his own task again. He’s lucky enough to get through one page before Woojin’s decided he’s finished and wants to bother Chan again. 

“Is your hair naturally curly?” Woojin asks. 

Chan doesn’t answer at first, peering over the edge of his paper to glance at the wolf-like creature Woojin’s drawn, with a flower crown of roses and daisies on its head and wavy fur eerily similar to Chan’s curls. 

“Do I look like a wolf to you?” Chan asks. 

“A little,” Woojin says. “Answer my question, Chan.” 

“Yes,” Chan says. “It’s always been like that, since I was young.” 

“Is it naturally that brown, too?” Woojin asks, and Chan sends him a withering look. 

“You’re trying to distract me,” Chan says. 

Woojin is decent enough that he offers a guilty smile in return. “Just sleep,” he says, taking the pen out of Chan’s hands before Chan can object, capping it and tossing it onto the floor along with the other pens he’s been borrowing. “Put your papers away. You won’t get anything done like this, when you’re so tired~” 

“I was doing just fine until you interrupted,” Chan says, even as he bends over the edge of the bed and resignedly places his work onto the floor. His phone is on the coffee table in the living room, and he retrieves it, setting his alarm to go off at 8 am tomorrow morning as he returns to his bedroom and turns off the light, joining Woojin in the darkness. 

“What time do you need to get up tomorrow?” Chan asks. Woojin’s face is illuminated a little from the brightness of Chan’s phone, and his lips are fixed in a pout as he thinks. 

“Not any time early,” Woojin replies. “Whenever.” 

“How wonderful for you,” Chan says. “I’ve got a 9 am.” 

“Then hurry up and come to bed, you idiot,” Woojin says, and this time around, he’s the one to manhandle Chan, pulling him by the forearms into the burrow of blankets. Chan’s knees bump Woojin’s thighs and he loses grip of his phone, but Woojin doesn’t care, snuggling up to tuck his face into the crook of Chan’s neck. 

“Woojinnie, you would have never struck me as a _cuddler_ ,” Chan remarks, once he’s found his phone and moved it to the floor. Woojin hums at him in warning. “Can I call you that? Woojinnie?” 

Woojin bites Chan’s neck in impatience. “You’re asking permission for something you’ve already gone and done. Twice, at that.” 

“I don’t know how close you’re going to let me get,” Chan says. “Gotta make sure. _Woojinnieeeee—_ ” 

“Yes, it’s _fine_ , god,” Woojin hisses, sounding more embarrassed than upset, and that has Chan’s insides twisting like a pretzel in complicated delight. “Now _sleep_.” 

“Okay,” Chan says happily, snaking his hands around Woojin’s waist, and he does just that. 

✿❀✿

Chan winces when he shifts in his seat and is reminded of why he shouldn’t have moved in the first place, linen shirt brushing up against the scratch marks on his back from a particularly feisty kitten he’d run into last night. 

“Where were you yesterday?” Jisung asks, when the teacher pauses in the middle of homework review to help a student with an individual question. “You never responded to my text about hanging out.” 

“Sorry,” Chan says. “Nowhere in particular. I think I might have fallen asleep or something.”

“You were hanging out with Woojin, right? You go off the radar whenever you two are together,” Jisung says, and frowns when Chan gives him an ambiguous head tilt and no real solid answer. “I told you to be careful with him. He’ll bite when you’re not paying attention.” 

Chan tries not to smile too widely when he thinks of the marks he’d left all over Woojin’s body, and the way Woojin had whimpered every time the sheets had brushed against him too roughly this morning. Woojin is not so much the one biting as the one being devoured, but that’s a secret Chan’s going to keep to himself.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Chan says.

Jisung pouts, miffed by Chan’s secretive attitude regarding Woojin, but he never gets to voice his complaint because their teacher resumes the lesson and starts speaking to the class as a whole again. 

If Jisung should be wary of anyone, he should be looking at the man sitting next to him, who’s got a tendency to chew on his prey until they’re in pieces and then spit them back out when he’s had his fill, although he’s not really sure he’ll ever get his fill of Woojin. 

His phone screen lights up with a new text notification, and he laughs at the curtness of Woojin’s two worded message. 

_i’m sore_

Chan replies with a string of heart and flower emojis, all different colors, and Woojin’s response to that is a picture of his hand flipping Chan off in frame. He’s still in Chan’s bed. Chan can tell since he recognizes the blurry striped print of his comforter, and the reminder of last night makes the possessive part of him start whirring to life, senses awakened.

 _Your fingers look nice. kinda makes me wanna suck on them_ , Chan sends. 

_im leaving, u weirdo_

_I’ll be back in 45 min if you want to wait for me,_ Chan types. He can make that trip thirty-five minutes, if traffic isn’t bad and his class ends a bit early. Then he adds, _Maybe you’ll stay over again ;)_

Woojin won’t be able to exit the parking garage, anyways, unless he finds another resident to trail behind, and with it being so early in the day, Chan doesn’t think Woojin will be terribly motivated to leave considering how late they’d gone to bed yesterday.

 _F u c k no,_ Woojin replies, and Chan locks his phone when he feels Jisung sending him a look, turning his gaze back to the front of the classroom as if he’s been paying attention the whole time.

Ten minutes later, the teacher stumbles on a technical error while displaying a video in her PowerPoint presentation, and Chan takes the opportunity to check his phone while several students in the front rush over to her aid.

Woojin has only sent one new message during this time, and it’s: 

… _bring me a hot chocolate._

“What are you grinning so hard for?” Jisung asks, and Chan angles his phone so that only he can see what’s on it.

“Nothing,” Chan says, typing and erasing several potential responses until he settles on one that borders nicely between being obnoxious and affectionate.

_anything 4 my prickly kitten_

Woojin replies with two messages in quick succession, and Chan can hear the low, annoyed tone of Woojin’s voice in his head when he reads them. 

_ur ded when u come back_

_i want chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream_

Chan had been looking forward to the thrill of making a reckless Woojin fall into his trap again, but the overwhelming warmth bleeding through his chest and spreading through the rest of his body makes him think that this… this is good, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> plot synopsis: basically, student president bang chan is a menace to society, but mostly just to woojin LMAO 
> 
> if u couldn't tell, im a bit happier this summer. that's why my recent fics have been nonsensical and frequent and not horribly sad. 
> 
> **if u like this, be sure to leave a comment! kudos! bookmark! if i can write 17k, you can write 140 characters at least, right?!?! that's the length of a tweet, and tweets r EASY. reader silence is what kills fic authors, and if you'd like me to stay alive, better whip out those typing hands and put your keyboard to goOD USE. BRO.**
> 
> while you're here. on my profile. might as well go check out my three other woochan fics. or come scream at me on twitter about aus and otps or whatever ur heart desires. yea? yea. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading! i'm super grateful for all the nice woochan readers who've been very supportive~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] brown sugar eyes in retrospect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137637) by [the24thkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the24thkey/pseuds/the24thkey)




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